


Choosing Their Faces

by Kaientist



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaientist/pseuds/Kaientist
Summary: The novel of Good Omens was a fantastic story of an angel and a demon's efforts to avert Armageddon. However, it did not explore the inevitable punishment that their respective higher offices would surely enact in such a traitorous event. After all, it's hardly proper for angels and demons to be working together on their own side!This story explores that possible tale on an alternate fate that the pair could have faced. It includes a different take on some of the Heavenly cast as well as an emphasis of their religious roots. Although references are made to the television series, this story continues from the book canon instead.The events start after everything had seemingly settled down, just when the pair were starting to get comfortable with the New Beginning to the Rest of Their Lives.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)





	Choosing Their Faces

**Author's Note:**

> The novel of Good Omens was a fantastic story of an angel and a demon's efforts to avert Armageddon. However, it did not explore the inevitable punishment that their respective higher offices would surely enact in such a traitorous event. After all, it's hardly proper for angels and demons to be working together on their own side!
> 
> This story explores that possible tale on an alternate fate that the pair could have faced. It includes a different take on some of the Heavenly cast as well as an emphasis of their religious roots. Although references are made to the television series, this story continues from the book canon instead.
> 
> The events start after everything had seemingly settled down, just when the pair were starting to get comfortable with the New Beginning to the Rest of Their Lives.

"Huh, something feels... _off_. Normal even." Said the Archangel Gabriel. He had just entered the humble domain of one Principality Aziraphale under the guise of ‘A. Z. Fell and Co., Bookseller’. 

"Er..." Aziraphale responded with polite uncertainty.

"Thou did not bless this establishment? Is this not where thou rests?" 

"Well. I mean, not all the time. It's a shop." 

"And thou acts a host to the Serpent here?" 

"I- I allow all sorts here. It's a common place, you know. A store. That's what a store is. We- I allow anyone and everyone, you know. To come in. Browse. And... haggle.. and.. buy- browse. Besides, what good is it to-" 

"Thou shouldst bless and purify this place for it is a place of Heaven and learning."

"It's - look, really, it'd be a waste. There's not a House of God within a hundred metres of here- which wasn't on purpose, mind you. I just... happened to come across it and the rates were dirt cheap at the time, you understand. And it would just be an awful... Oh, please don't?"  
  
"Alriiight, alright... but I'm just saying... if I so... _happen_ to say: 

_Hostem repellas longius_

_Pacemque dones protinus;_

_Ductore sic te praevio_

_Vitemus omne noxium._

“And of course, if you so _happen_ to reply with…” Gabriel gestured flippantly to put Aziraphale on cue.

".... Per... te........."

"Why doth mine Brother shows such hesitation?" 

"Per... te…” Aziraphale let the words hang a second longer before he reluctantly cleared his throat and spoke hurriedly.

_Per te sciamus da Patrem_

_Noscamus atque Filium;_

_Teque utriusque Spiritum_

_Credamus omni tempore._

“Deo Patri se Gloria. Yes. Grand. Allelujah. Amen."  
  
"Deo Patri _sit_ Gloria." Gabriel tutted, "So yeah, what _if_ , huh?"

  
  


It was not uncommon for Crowley to slip into the bookshop toward the end of the day to share a drink with an old friend, even if he wasn’t the sort to go to a bookshop for any other reason. What was uncommon was for the very door of the establishment to keep him out by burning his hand at so much as a glancing touch. The demon hopped back from it, flicking his wrist as he stared down at the handle with disbelief. Did that really burn? 

Out of part stubbornness and part shock, he fully grasped the handle so he could enter the musty old shop. He was welcomed with a full on burn on his palm, sending him yelping swears as he hopped over to the window. Crowley tucked his wounded hand beneath his other arm as he started rapping on the window, hissing out a most fowl string of words all the while. 

A few pedestrians that happened to stare at the demon for far too long got an annoyed hiss of “Allergies” and a glare that even through his sunglasses scared them off.  
  


  
Aziraphale's face was starting to hurt from the strain of keeping such a mixed smile of dread, agitation, and incredulousness in place as a plastic, strangled chuckle sounded from between nearly clenched teeth. "I… suppose... I'd always.. needed some new renovating done anyway. Aha... Haha, at least it wasn't that powerful of a prayer, right? Ha..." 

Gabriel laughed heartily and sighed, "This paint job is pretty terrible. Doesn't really scream 'Glory to God in the Highest' does it?" 

Aziraphale's arms slowly began to tighten around himself, one hand raising to subtly support his head and let him dig his fingers into his temple. "As I said, the rates were dirt cheap..." 

"Well, since I'm here, mayhaps I could lend a hand in building this up into a proper temple, fit for a King of Kings." 

"It's a _bookshop_!" Aziraphale stressed.

"Sure! We could fit a concessions stand here. A baptismal font there. Let's do it. I'll start with-"  
  
"No!” Aziraphale caught himself and immediately backed down under the Archangel’s raised brow, “Er- Now, oh, well, that sounds fantastic. Glorious even, Sir Gabriel, but yanno, that last one did rather take a number from me. It's been a long day and I'm feeling a bit... drained and-" As he spoke, he had been rubbing his forehead and looking about his shop only to freeze at noticing a black clad figure outside the main window. Eyes widened, his head immediately whipped back around to the Archangel, "And you've already seen and heard and done enough dam-demonstrations for today, right? Here, hear, here!" He gestured and bowed while grabbing the Archangel's arm to direct him towards the backroom. "I'll let you get yourself comfy in here- not that you haven't already been comfortable, I'm sure- but yes, there's wine and- and- and you can conjure and make-do what you wish. Oh, and the communion circle in the corner, yanno, why not get in touch with HQ for a tick while I fetch some other refreshments or something!" 

He soundly closed the backroom door on Gabriel before scampering back to the front and peered out sheepishly at the recoiling figure with a sympathetic wince. "Er. Hi." He said, not bothering to have more than just his head jut out from the doorway. "You getting on alright then?"

Hopefully Aziraphale was successful in keeping the archangel from noticing the demon sputtering about outside, because the demon certainly noticed the archangel between his fits. He may not have recognized exactly which angel it was, but he knew an angel when he saw one. Looking out for his own hide, he clamped his mouth shut and turned away from the shop, opting to simply fume outside while waiting to be addressed by the angel he was familiar with. 

When Aziraphale poked his head out with a sheepish greeting, the demon spun on his heel and nearly spat out his response.

“Gettin’ on alright? Gettin’ on alright? Really?” Crowley looked around in disbelief, but he found no understanding pedestrians since he had so promptly scared them all off. “Do I look alright?” He asked, holding up a burned hand for the angel to see. He quickly tucked it back under his arm. “What’s going on in there?” He ducked close to the angel’s face as he addressed the other, nearly hissing his question at the other out of pain and frustration. “How much longer is he going to be here?” There were about a half a dozen other questions the demon would like to ask, but those were better suited for a more private location.

Furtive enough he could be mistaken for a terrified and exhausted gopher stuck in a golf hole, Aziraphale looked back and forth from Crowley to the backroom, then to Crowly, then the backroom, and then to Crowley once more before swiftly moving out and shutting the door behind him in an awkward spin. 

He clasped his hands together as he stood up straight as a rod, "I'm currently in the process of finding that out." Then, sucking in a breath at seeing the sear, "Oh, dear, that... that does look particularly nasty too..." He whipped out one of his handkerchiefs and was about to hand it to him, but then immediately withdrew it after remembering what just had since transpired. "Sorry. There's been an 'accidental' blessing. And.. you probably should... well... run. _Far._ "

The sound Crowley let out could only be described as a mixture of a growl and a hiss at the mention of the blessing. The demon stuffed both of his hands into his pockets, peeking around to the windows again to look for the other angel. Why did it have to be an angel? Crowley could have handled any other sort of landlord issues, he had no troubles putting the human sort into their place. But an angel was out of his league if he wanted to stay out of trouble. Hell, even if it had been a demon he could have handled that for Aziraphale, anything but an angel. 

His eyes darted back to the angel before him, settling him with a stern look. “Well... Well... When you do find out, you know where to find me. And if for some Go—...If for some damn reason you can’t meet at our usual spot, then... Send me a sign or somethin’... I don’t know.” It was obvious that the demon was a little too preoccupied to be sorting out the details at the moment.

"Right, right. I know. I'm sorry... Will that heal though?" Aziraphale had to resist trying to extend a hand and do more good than harm to the demon, as the turn of phrase would be more apt.

“Yeh... yeh.. I’ll be fine.” The demon glowered, hunching his shoulders a little as he tried to avoid eye contact. “Just... If any other surprise changes take place... Put up an ‘Under Renovations’ sign or somethin’, you know?” He was trying to calm down a little so Aziraphale wouldn’t worry. The angel was never good at hiding concern for anyone, after all. The last thing he needed was to fumble through an explanation of why he looked so distraught upon reentering his shop. “Anyway. You shouldn’t keep him waiting, wouldn’t want him getting suspicious.”

"Oh... far, far too late for that...." The angel fretted, the handkerchief now a tangled ball between his hands as he looked back through the window, "But. Yes. I… Actually, could you look into local contractors for me? I probably will need some references on that as soon as possible."

Paperwork. How _nice_ of Aziraphale to assign some work to the demon. And after singeing him with a blessing! What a day this was turning out to be for Crowley. “Yeh.. Fine. Fine. I’ll handle that.” The demon started to slink back to his Bentley, nodding his head back to the shop. “And you go handle _that_... I’m leaving before holy water fonts start sproutin’ up. We’ll talk later.” The demon punctuated his demand with the slamming of his car door as he ducked out of sight within the safety of his vehicle.

Helplessly wishing he could actually tag along and forget any of the day's events, Aziraphale's arms dropped to his sides with the handkerchief firmly molded into a near perfect cotton sphere clenched in his right hand. A tap on the glass behind him finally drew his attention away from the Bentley, and another wave of internal panic rose as he locked eyes with the Archangel.

"Soooo.... That was the Serpent, huh?" The Archangel mused as Aziraphale walked back in. He held a wooden goblet with golden studs and rubies in hand. 

"Could we move on to why this is happening? I thought we were done with this for now. Besides, he's.... well... mostly harmless. Really." 

Gabriel took a long and eager draught from his goblet, smacking his lips with an exaggerated 'aaah' before dismissing the gauntlet in a flash of golden fire. His eyes focused on Aziraphale with an intensity of a thousand suns and a near malicious smirk fastened upon his immaculately sculpted jaw. "Didn't I make it clear already? Brother, thou art being judged." 

  
  


**"And that's... the thick of it..." Aziraphale finished** , hands clamped together tightly as he sat up straight, proper, and racked with internal guilt on his usual side of their usual bench in their usual park with the usual pond where the usual ducks awaited their usual daily portions of usual gold standard bread. "How's your hand then?"

Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley was found slouching so severely on his usual side of the bench that it was simply a miracle that he hadn’t slid onto the floor yet. The demon shrugged in response, only adjusting his pose to cross his legs at the ankles. “Funny you ask that... I actually heard about your bit already from down below.” 

Granted, the summary he got from Hastur was much more vague and dodgy, much like any news that came from Hell. “And you’ll like this... Compared to you, I’m off the hook, so to speak. Isn’t that just grand?”

"Oh. Actually, yes. Goo-er... Congratulations." Aziraphale did actually sound pleased if not slightly confused, "But I meant the burn?"

The demon let out a sigh as he removed his hand from his pocket for the angel to inspect. The wound looked just as bad as it had this afternoon, as Crowley had been a little too busy with other matters to bother tending to it. 

“In the grand scheme of things... Even though it still hurts like Heaven,” as Crowley intended to blame the party at fault, “—It’s nothing as bad as what the lads down there are expecting for me.” The demon added to simply contradict his position of being off the hook.

After looking at the burn mark, the angel lost his composure, slumping forward with his palms now actually pressed together and his head resting heavily on the back of his thumbs as he muttered out a quick prayer of exasperation. "...e 'ad a goo' run. Shouldn't... b't's'prised attol... Really." He added, still in a mumble.

Crowley arched an eyebrow with interest as the other lost his composure, which caused him to sit up a bit straighter in turn. “Oh come off it... What’s gotten into you, then? We’ve dealt with worse.” He casually slipped his hand back into his pocket as he sat as close as a demon could to being at attention.

"Worse? _Worse_ ? The End, you mean?" Aziraphale lifted his head, "The End That Didn't Come- that was supposed to never happen and supposed to let us be well enough to our own devices?! Or ‘The End’ where Heaven would have won anyway and- that was _worse_ ? At least it was certain in a way! Eventual boredom aside.... It..." He grunted as he dragged his hand down his face, "No, of course. That would've been _worse._ Not the fact that both of us are now slated for..." He looked to his feet, staring beyond the thick concrete of the city. "Yes. Sure."

Crowley still kept his cool as he watched the angel next to him crumble apart and babble about the fates that the pair did not, will not, and could possibly experience. “I think you’re overreacting, Angel,” he stated as plainly as he could to not upset the other any further. “After all... Haven’t you said somethin’ or other about evil plans sowing the seeds of their own undoing?” The demon took off his sunglasses, taking care to clean the lenses on the edge of his shirt. “You ‘aven’t heard what I’m even slated for yet for you to get your wings in such a twist...”

"And you know there's also the saying of 'The Rhod t' Hell is pavd wyd goode intent an' the harts o'the valiant shalt march nonne wiser'. But do go on."

“You couldn’t have thought of anything remotely true to come back with, could you?” The demon responded, shaking his head. ‘Or anything more modern for that matter’ he thought to himself. “But.. yeh. I’m slated for nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Crowley held up his sunglasses, squinting as he inspected the lenses. “Hell won’t touch me with a pole o’ any length so long as there’s an archangel about. After my holy water stunt an’ now with him around, the cowards are planning on placing bets as to whot’ll happen to me.” Satisfied, he replaced the sunglasses on his face. “They’re all hoping Heaven will clean me up with your mess, you see. Not that they’ll communicate anything like that to your side... Again, they’re not much into fraternizing after The End That Didn’t Come quite yet.” 

The demon then drew in a breath, leaning on the armrest of his side of the park bench, “So... As far as I’m concerned, I s’pose that makes you right about the plans of evil. Since it’s lookin’ like I’m off the hook.” 

As much as it had pained Hastur to relay this information to Crowley on his car ride back from Aziraphale’s bookshop, there was some satisfaction in knowing that the snake would receive punishment from Above. It was only fitting after what he had done to Ligur, after all. The only reason the information was passed on to Crowley in the first place was so Hastur could relish in the pained response from the lesser demon. It was the least he could do since he couldn’t enjoy finishing the Serpent off himself.

Aziraphale slowly lifted his head again and turned it just as slowly to stare at Crowley. "... Magnificent ... That's... it? Yes. Just... Just wait aroun' for a hopefully swift and merciful end at the blade of One of Our Most Renowned?"

“I’m sure they’d prefer if he dragged it out as much as one of your kind’s holy rituals,” the demon said with little concern. Considering he was speaking of his own demise, Crowley really didn’t seem at all worried, even if one wasn’t comparing his composure to that of the angel next to him. 

“As for me... I don’t plan on waiting for anything. I’ve got more productive things to do in my last moments.” The demon looked over his distraught friend once again, “So what... You’re being judged. Just means you’ve got to pass some sort of test and show you haven’t fallen, right?” 

From Crowley’s understanding, an angel’s punishment usually involved lots of paperwork, formalities, and a slap on the wrist. Though, perhaps to Aziraphale that was a lot more daunting than it sounded to the demon. The angel never did handle the idea of disappointing Heaven very well.

Aziraphale continued to stare at him for a few more long, seemingly pained seconds before breaking into a laugh. The sort of strained laugh that really wanted to be a shout of Holy Wrath that would cause the ground to shake and a pond to be split cleanly in halves- which incidentally was happening if the suddenly panicked squawks and wild flapping of water-logged feathers was anything to consider. 

_‘In all your Divine Patience, cut me some slack for once, please!?’_ "Yes. Yes. That's right. A test. A simple test to determine where my true loyalty lies. Yes." He rose from his seat and paced as the pond waters returned to their usual dimensions with an unceremonious splash. "But Crowley... Crowley.. Crowley ... You're not seeing it? Really? And you call me stupid?" 

Although Crowley hadn’t seemed concerned about his own fate, the fact that he quickly rose to his feet showed he was definitely concerned about the angel and the display of power before him. It was unlike Aziraphale to flex his true capabilities, let alone do it without seemingly realizing it. He reached out a hand in an effort to place it on the other’s shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, but upon looking at his own palm he thought twice about it. The demon slipped his hand back into his pocket. 

“Angel... Angel. You’ve said it right there... You have to prove you’re still loyal to up above. Right?” Crowley sputtered a weak chuckle, as the sight of Aziraphale had knocked a little of the wind out of his sails, but he continued to try and show his usual confidence. “I don’t know anyone holier than thou who is loyaler than thou... They’d be the stupid ones not to see that.”

It was a good thing that Crowley had stopped himself. Even if he hadn't meant to, Aziraphale was still a bit more than supercharged with an extension of The Holy Spirit as a result from his interactions with Gabriel. Such was the nature of True Prayer, it'd be a few days for it all to wear off. 

The angel ceased his pacing as the waters still churned behind him. His own hands slipping into the pockets of his greatcoat as he looked sideways to the demon apologetically. Try as he may to regain his composure and poise, the slump in his shoulders and the rigidity of his stance showed he was still no closer to his usual affable sense. 

"Well. I'm glad one of us still thinks that way about me. But, you're right there. It's all still very stupid. 'My' side still feels compelled to having a 'win' at any cost. Taking you out in one way or another would fulfill that. After all, the bounty on your head you've amassed all the way since the Genesis... Well..." He scoffed a little, "Even then, I never had so much as an inkling to want to collect on it. That stands even now. That's probably why I never was promoted, now that I think of it, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed my work as a Principality. I still do. As... menial as it all is nowadays... " 

Realising he had gone off on too long a tangent again, he shook his head and looked away. "The point I'm making is that it's already too late. I don't want to fall, Crowley. I don't. But I just know that I wouldn't be able to do you in. I can't." The waters had finally quieted and the ducks were back as the angel spoke lowly, "So what do we do? Tell me how we're getting out of this one."

"Well..." The demon started, allowing his gaze to fall back to the ducks in the pond. Crowley had to admit, he was a little surprised that the angel wasn't so much as tempted to off the demon. Sure, he had plenty of opportunities over the years, but if there was a time for temptation, it was now. And yet here Aziraphale was, still the same soft old fool he had always been. 'If you weren't so convinced I had an ounce of good in me, this would be a whole lot easier,' he thought to himself. 

"Well..." The demon continued, returning his attention to the angel. "So you refuse the easy way out... Are y'sure you can't be tempted?" After all, Crowley had to be certain before he could share his plan with the other. 

The angel had his eyes closed as he clenched his fists in his pockets. "How is it that you can still joke about this at this time? Shall I use the Old Words to convince you then?"

"Oh... Oh please don't. Really." The demon grimaced at just the thought of Aziraphale going into a long rant filled with language older than Crowley cared to admit ever speaking in his lifetime. "Relax... I just had to be sure, y'know." He looked over the tensing angel as he stood at the holy being's side. The demon then spoke in hushed tones, "Whot about an imp, then? Could you smite an imp for me? I know you're not much of the sort... But you're going to have to snuff out something if my plan is to work." Crowley looked back to the pond as he continued with a forced chuckle, "They're practically made for it, you know. Course, I think it'd be a right honor t'be taken out by an angel rather than the usual treatment they get down there... You'd be doin' it a favor." It was as if the demon was already trying to rid Aziraphale of any guilt he could have for smiting something as lowly as an imp. After all, the angel wasn't known to take out bugs, let alone demonic beings.

To prove yet another century's old point, Aziraphale's coat billowed just slightly as if he were about to unveil his wings, but due to his amplification, the movement was enough to cause a decent buffet of wind to encircle him as a warning for Crowley to keep his distance. He still had his eyes closed. "I thought I'd made it quite clear that I would not pick up a sword against anyone no lesser than The Great Betrayer Itself."

Crowley took the hint, taking an apprehensive side step away from the angel. All that radiating holiness was going to make the demon sick at this rate. "Look... I don't think I can set you up with an appointment," he sneered back at the other. "Isn't there any sort of stand-in I can offer? I'm going to need something evil to be obliterated for it to be convincing. I can't mask a... a..." The demon found himself at a loss for words for a moment. He really couldn't think of anything the angel would be willing to wipe out of existence. "...a bottle.. or somethin'... and convince all parties that tha' inanimate object is me. Give me something to work with, here... This is our fates I'm tryin' to settle. And ultimately, earth's too whenever your lot and mine decide to go at it again." 

Aziraphale finally opened his eyes if only to stare in dumbfounded shock at the grand reveal of Crowley's plan. "... You really think a trick as old as that will work?"

"It worked for Romeo and Juliet, didn't it?" he mused in response. Crowley turned to Aziraphale with the utmost serious expression on his face. "Look.. That's not the whole plan. It wouldn't work if that was the whole plan. But admit it... Gabriel or any of those angels up there wouldn't recognize me from Befulr, Ligur, Hastur... Or even Adam, really. Not on the same level that you would. All it has to do is look like me, radiate evil, and be absolutely obliterated for all to be well in their books. Hell would be satisfied with that too, so long as a body couldn't survive the trek down there."

"... This is an absolute terrible plan." Aziraphale grimaced, feeling like they only just had this conversation quite too recently. "Yet again... it's the only one we've got, is it?" 

The demon shrugged, "I don't do good plans. Just not in my nature, you know that." He then let out a long sigh, staring off at the ducks once again. "So... Out with it. Would you allow me to put some lesser evil in my stead so you can put on the best magic show you've got?" Crowley then hesitated a moment, remembering how poorly Aziraphale's magic shows typically have gone over the years. "...And by magic, I mean the real stuff, none of this pulling punches nonsense. Full out holy display of power. Like... what you're doin' now. Jus'... concentrated as a weapon against evil."

The angel hesitated, then lowered his head as he removed his still all too well manicured hands from his pockets and looked them over as if expecting some great weapon of ultimate fury to manifest itself between them. Of course no such thing did take place and he simply intertwined his fingers together. 

"I'll give an honest try." Was his humble decree.

The demon ducked forward, even lowering his sunglasses so he could try to force eye contact between the two immortals. "I'm serious, Aziraphale. I need you to actually wipe out whatever I put there in my stead. No faking it. No changing your mind. There's nothing more convincing than actually snuffing out an evil. You understand, right?" 

"Yes. In complete totality." The angel met the demon's slitted gaze without faltering. "... It's just been so long now, I don't know if I remember the words all too correctly anymore. I'll get it though, I'm sure."

"Well... Practice." Crowley slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before pulling away from the angel. Leaning in even that close felt like he was sticking his face into a holy sauna. Without even realizing he was doing it, the demon touched his cheek to ensure it wasn't covered in burns from being so close to that radiance. "Right... Just don't do anything stupid after. Promise? I won't be in touch wit' you for awhile so everything can blow over. It'll give it time for the contractors to get your shop all fixed up again."

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile a bit. He'd never heard Crowley be so concerned before. He didn't really think the demon could be this concerned. He decided not to try ruining the moment by pointing it out. 

"Oh, you found someone for that after all?" He finally started to sound like he was relaxed again.

If the demon knew the angel felt he was acting concerned for the other's well being, he would have snapped back with a remark about how Aziraphale had a history of doing foolish things when they were apart for long. He really was trusting that the angel wouldn't do something they would both regret while Crowley kept out of sight. But seeing as the angel was smart enough to keep his mouth shut on the topic, the demon felt no need to jump forward with any premature defenses. 

"Yeh... Of course. After what I heard from Hastur, I found some boys that'll do a right and thorough job on the place. Make it better 'n new. ...If.. that's what you want." The demon flipped his wrist over to check the time as he took a few steps back from the angel. "Do you think you can be ready for that smiting tomorrow? Or is that too soon?"

“No. Tomorrow should be fine. Plenty of time to refresh my memory at least..." He shrugged, "... Who is it that you've in mind to send anyway? You know... the, er... stand-in?"

"Who?" Crowley looked up from his watch, raising his eyebrows as he did. "Oh... They don't really have names. I've never seen an imp exist long enough to merit a name..." The demon then cleared his throat, continuing to back away from Aziraphale, eager to keep light on the details of his plan. 

"Look.. I have to.. ah.. Finish up with the arrangements." He pulled a sleek and pristine iPhone from his pocket, holding it up as if it was evidence that he had matters to take care of. Humans did that all the time. Granted, they were usually receiving a phone call, but that was a minor detail in the current circumstances. "When next you see 'me'- it... Well.. Just be thorough and put on a good show, yeh? Razzle dazzle 'em. You can tell me how it went after I get in contact wit' ya, alright?" 

For a moment the demon actually looked concerned as well as sounded the part. It's not that he didn't trust Aziraphale, no, he trusted him more than anyone on, above, or below Earth. No, for once, Crowley was worried that he wouldn't succeed with his contribution to the plan. But before Aziraphale would have a chance to question him, the demon gave the angel one last long look before turning away to hurry to the Bentley. There was still much work to be done. 

**It was little wonder why Aziraphale had let slip such a simple mantra from his active memory.** After having gotten back to his bookshop and holed himself up in the backroom, the most work was simply locating where he had kept the oldest and, thus, most basic pieces of literature in his wonton collection. A strip of parchment that not a person living today would even think was older than time immemorial due to its pristine and pure appearance being his current prize. The writing on it itself wasn't even really written as this was from a time where letters, alphabets, and type- setting weren't really in full effect. They more just appeared and glistened, as modern times would claim to be a 3-D effect, leaping at you from off a small square of not quite paper, not quite cloth, not quite silk nor velvet, and not quite long enough to really warrant the need of a scroll casing. Still, Aziraphale had long since gotten tired of keeping the _Holy Pocket Guide to Angelic Matters and Keeping To His Divine Path (And 101 Ways to Keep the Devil Off Your Back with special annotations by The Metatron and Various.)_ (paraphrased, of course) within one of his pockets and the case he found was exceptionally crafted. Pure Macedonian Silver blessed by St. John the Baptist himself. Either way, it had taken very little time for him to appropriate the correct banishing phrase that would be suitable for one of Crowley's status. 

It was dreadfully simple. And for that reason, it was dreadfully difficult for him to want to remember it. Retiring to his chair that was now far more ornate and larger than what Aziraphale could have ever felt comfortable with, he propped his feet up onto his now similarly matching desk with the little square in hand, trying to not let his mind wander off nor let the mantra wander off from his mind. _If worse comes to worse_ , his mind did continue though, _I suppose I could always keep this on hand for reference anyway..._ He gave up shortly with that as he looked back around his now far too ornate backroom. The walls were repainted in reds and golds with deep etchings of triumphant choirs and a row of intricately woven tapestries depicting various figureheads across the Spheres- some of whom he recognised as his cousins within the 2nd Sphere- while each of the Great 7 had their own nominally placed portraits surrounded by their respective legions. He really should not have let the Archangel loose, but then again, who was he to try imposing on an Archangel?

Aziraphale the Principality. That was he. 

_...For how much longer?_

The thought hung too heavily. 

He forced himself back to sitting upright and scrounge around for one of his preferred wines, only to grumble as he found his desk cabinet completely empty. ‘ _Couldn't even be bothered to refill or replace... of course, you couldn't... Archangels are busy folk, you know. Ridiculous---ly busy.’_ He couldn't think ill of them. That'd be heresy afterall.

With a sigh, he simply turned his palm face up and not a second later his hand suddenly felt a few ounces heavier as he miracled a 1990's Le Vin du Rosier into existence.

"Well, if it's good enough for the Pope... Praise to Him on High..." He said as he popped off the cork and scarce had started to pour himself his first glass when a second boasting voice answered from behind with "Amen, Hallelujah, Amen!" causing the angel to jolt a bit in his seat all without spilling so much as a droplet. Perks of the trade. 

"Quite. What brings you back so soon then?" Aziraphale hastily stood up to see the incredible Adonis-like form that was Gabriel, tall and triumphant and judgmental. 

"Just checking to see how much progress was made by thee on this Day of our Blessed Lord." Gabriel immediately moved into the vacated chair, somehow swiftly claiming both bottle and glass at the same time from the lesser angel. "So, how much progress was made?" 

"...Er... well...we've... an accord set up." Aziraphale shuffled back to the otherside of his now too ornate desk. 

"Glorious! Good to see that some of those degenerates still know when to give up isn't it?" Gabriel laughed, the glass suddenly being replaced with the wooden goblet in a flash of golden fire. 

"Eheh..." Aziraphale joined in half-heartedly.

"Thou art on a good path, Brother. Thou hast shown remarkable restraint with thine power." 

"Well, you know... it's not everyday that one can be so well endowed..." Aziraphale winced, "...With The Holy Spirit. I'd hate to squander it. Especially on someone so..." 

"Demonic?" 

"I was thinking undesser-spondent. Unrepentant, but, yanno... You're not wrong either. Of course."

"Of course." Gabriel drank.

"Well, um..." Aziraphale clasped his hands together, "Was... there something else I can do for you or...?"

Gabriel held up a finger as he was still finishing off his draught, once again smacking his lips with an exaggerated 'aaah' before pouring himself a second filling. "I had actually forgotten one thing before. Thine Sworde of Wrath. Ye hath let it slip from thine hands again, hath ye?" 

"Sworde...." It took a second for Aziraphale to remember it. "Oh! Oh... Ah... Well, I wasn't... really using it, really. And... it seems it’s found a new life of its own, hm? Prop for the next Advent of War, isn't it? Heh, sterling." 

"Then, ye plan to banish the Serpent with thine own hands?" 

"... In... a sense." 

"Ha, now that's personal indeed. Approved. Thou art are on a good path." 

"Thanks." Aziraphale felt hollow. 

Crowley could have sworn he heard the voices of Hell casting lots and placing bets as he drove back to his London flat. Gritting his teeth and setting his jaw, he continued his speedy ride. But the voices just wouldn't stop. 

'Doused in holy water!' a little voice squeaked. 

'No no... **Drowned** in it,' a deeper one corrected.

'Set aflame in a column of fire?' a third asked.

'....Holy fire?' the first added. 

Crowley wasn't going to wait for the voices to settle on what was an appropriate fate for him as he cranked up the volume on the Bentley's CD player. A piano solo trailed off into a squealing guitar riff as Mr. Mercury took over as the dominant, and much better sounding, voice coming from the car. The demon tapped his hands on the steering wheel as he started to relax again, letting the music flow through his entire being and carry him away from what had to be done. Until... 

_Death on two legs_

_You're tearin' me apart_

_You never had a heart of your own_

The lyrics were demanding his attention, but not in the usual demonic method. 

_Kill joy, bad guy_

_Big talking, small fry_

The demon winced, but kept his eyes focused on the road despite the prodding from the song.

_Feel good, are you satisfied?_

_Do you feel like suicide?_

**_I THINK YOU SHOULD_ **

With a snarling hiss, Crowley snapped the radio off. But it was too late, he knew very well how the rest went. He let out a tense sigh as he pulled up in front of his flat before questioning himself. "...Is your conscience all right? ...Does it plague you at night...?" He swung the door open and stepped out.

"...No... I don't feel good."

  
  


**The fateful day was indeed another Saturday, as it had worked out.** However, this time it wasn't the end of the world on the line, but rather the end of a particular demon. And like that previous fateful day that did not happen, Crowley was determined for this day to not take place as well. 

Well, at least the part where he was ended. 

The demon had some last minute preparations to take care of before he could rendezvous at the angel's bookshop as planned. Really, he should have taken care of these matters last night, but Anthony J. Crowley had wanted to spend one last night sleeping on earth. Just in case. So now the demon could be found hurrying about his flat; tending to his plants one last time, removing a small black box from his safe, and searching for his cellular phone. All the usual preparations before one is to be smote, of course. 

It was the phone in particular that was causing him grief. Crowley impatiently tapped his glossy black iPhone* on his desk as he pulled open the drawers so he could frantically root through their contents. 

(*The Jet Black iPhone had not yet come to market and would not for another number of years. Not only did Crowley find it fashionably rebellious to have a jailbroken iPhone in his possession, but to have a design that hadn't even been dreamed of by Steve Jobs in this day was even more fashionable in his opinion.) 

However, this was not the phone he was looking for.

The demon that appeared to be Crowley stood on the walk in front of Aziraphale's bookshop, just as planned. It looked back over its shoulder at a Bentley parked a good safe distance away before nodding and approaching the shop. The figure snapped its fingers, beckoning the doors to swing open... But they simply did not. Pedestrians that walked by hurried along, turned away by the foul smell of death that seeped from the demon's pores. First the loud chiming of bells from this bookshop in the early morning, now this... wretched man... What was to come next? 

This was supposed to be the third week of the rest of their lives. The rest of their existence. An existence decreed to go without further meddling, as the Boy had put it, of the Human Race. Shame the Boy was too short-sighted to grant something of an everlasting parlay for his incompetent shadow guardians. Aziraphale was muttering the mantra again in the Olde; the language before language was known. It felt rusty and obnoxiously laborious in his throat as the human form didn't quite have the same linguistic capabilities as that of any Angel. Still, he dutifully tried to make-do while keeping an eye towards the window. Half-hoping, half-dreading, half-praying, and half-not-caring-how-bad-he-was-at-fractions, the angel had half a mind to just stay indoors as the lithe, slinky figure of Crowley finally came into view. 

_Agnus Dei... Agnus Dei eleison..._ A completely unrelated verse popped into his head as he pocketed the _Pocket Guide to Angelic Matters_ and stepped out. Head high, features grave, and hands clasped so tightly together that all colour was drained from his fingertips as he stared down the demon. His friend. Or something that looked meticulously like him.

Indeed, the demon that appeared to be Crowley was there fumbling at the angel's front door. It frantically looked back over its shoulder at the Bentley that was slowly driving out of sight. The demon then turned to the angel as he exited the building, narrowing its gaze upon him. "Aziraphale..." it hissed, sounding very much like an irritated Crowley, to be specific. 

It was very specifically like an irritated Crowley from head to toe, posture, and tone. However, Aziraphale would notice one quality that was very unlike Crowley. That was the matter of how it smelled. This creature that stood like a cobra poised to strike absolutely reeked of death, mold, and a whole potpourri of suffering. Whatever stood before Aziraphale most definitely did not smell of Crowley, even if it appeared so much like him otherwise. 

  
  


The demon known as Crowley ever so carefully pried open the small box that sat upon his desk. Inside was a most wretched muck, unlike any mud he had used for a facial at any point in his lifetime. He sloshed it around in the box a little, concern knitting his brow tighter together with every drip that would fling into the air.

"Oh I can't believe I kept this..." He muttered to himself. Any other immortal would see the remains of another as a proper trophy to keep for their collection. For Crowley, these filtered and unpurified remains of Ligur were a vivid reminder of what Heaven and Hell had planned for him. 

The demon turned to sit against the edge of his desk while he looked over the concoction in the small box. He had been certain to filter the ash, slime, and muck until it was assuredly impossible for any residue of holy water to remain. At least, that's what he told himself. And with a pair of already pre-singed fingers ready to dip into the mixture, he was going to put that statement to the test. After all, he needed to make a proper stand-in to fool an angel. 

He winced, pressing his fingers into the remains, "...I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered under his breath. 

_Kyrie eleison_

Aziraphale's face darkened as he opened his mouth, his voice metallic and seemingly burning the air about him as he let himself indulge in the presence of The Holy Spirit for once, trying to invoke the image and presence of Lord Michael or Sir Uriel as he had seen them at their most Terrifying. "You've no longer any place nor standing to refer to me by name, Serpent." 

The demon that looked like Crowley had changed its appearance upon the ever so holy sight of The Principality Aziraphale. Instead of looking like an irritated Crowley, the demon now gave off a hint of awe mixed with fear in its expression, a Crowley full of fear, so to speak. The fear melted away for a moment as the demon gathered itself once again. 

The demon known as Crowley did tell the angel to put on a good show. And what a show it was shaping up to be. 

It stuffed a hand into its pocket, shielding its face with the other as it tried to keep focused on the angel. Between the tinnitus the angel was spewing and the burning radiance, it was going to be hard for the demon to keep itself collected. But it persevered all the same.

"Please... Like I'll listen to that, _Aziraphale_." the demon chided, starting to choke on its breath. The air itself was swelling up in its throat and causing it to burn. This was going to put quite the damper on its dramatic act. 

"I'll--" The demon tried to hold back a coughing fit, but it was unable to. This was going much faster than the demon Crowley had planned. The demon hissed, "--do asss I desssire," doing its best to still sound rightfully threatening and rebellious. Though with its increasingly hunched posture to avoid the holy brilliance and coughing fits, one would not be blamed if they confused the demon's behavior with cowering and meek.

 _Kyrie... eleison..._ Aziraphale's brow furrowed, hesitating for a moment to ponder on just how resilient this imp was being to a direct Command. _S'pose he had to find one that.. was somewhat tenacious..._ He reasoned, stepping forward _Or perhaps it had been so long that imps nowadays had become a bit tougher since I last knew? Was now really the time to be distracted by the progressive nuances of a Hellish entity?_

From how the Fires of Holy Wrath and Vengeance suddenly flared from off his arms and feet, the answer was most simply 'no'. They- He had a demon to dispose of. As he continued to close the distance, his coat began to split down the back and unfurl, spilling into golden tinged wings with platinum white feathers that rose and arched, almost helping to concentrate the Holy auras into a focused beam to shine on the pathetic form before him. 

_‘... Pathetic...? Did I really...? No... He told me...He_ _told me to go full-out... I... promised to…’_

The Angel Aziraphale opened his mouth once again, his voices now at full strength and words still full of Fire, "<<He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal. By His command you shall kneel and be made to remember who had lain you low at your creation.>>"

Crowley had chosen the most tenacious demonic entity that he knew of to take the stand against Aziraphale. But at this point, that demon was starting to question whether it actually could stand. It soon found itself on bended knee as it kept its face averted from the angel's holy gaze. 

The voices from on high pierced the demon's ears, causing it to flinch and duck its head lower. The hand in its pocket tightly grasped a small grey object with a death grip that well... ....only one would use if they were near death, really. The demon would have retorted to the noise, commanding, and fire, but it found its voice stripped from its throat and replaced only with a searing burn. It managed to hiss or sizzle, it was hard to tell the difference at this rate. 

Standing with barely a foot between them, the Angel Aziraphale glared down at the creature before him. _Kyrie..._ His right hand extended and golden fire erupted and concentrated in tendrils across his palm and finger tips. _Such a truly resilient... I'd be certain any imp at this range.. Was Crowley's magic still so powerful to compete like this...?_ He stole a glance back towards the end of the road, hesitating again to wonder where and how the demon was still perpetuating the illusion. _This was... there could be no way he---_

And it finally dawned on him. 

"... You..." He snapped his attention back to the crumpled form at his feet, forgetting his arm was still ablaze as he dropped to his knees next to Crowley. "You bastard... You utter- why?! You- I could have- I nearly--" The words choked as he reached out to him, trying to coax him back up and look Crowley in the eye. "Why?!"

The demon wanted to praise the angel for the magnificent performance, he really didn't think he had it in him anymore. It was truly a sight to behold, his friend shining brilliantly with all of the divine graces. Almost like the old times. 

Though it was equally such a pity that Aziraphale nearly bungled the entire plan with his concern for the demon. Nearly. As the angel tried to bring the demon to his feet, the Serpent Crowley found himself unable to resist any longer as the tendrils of holy flame sent him reeling backward with a most horrible cry that resembled a shrieking hiss. Whether that sound escaped from Crowley's lips or from his now brightly glowing skin as wisps of energy licked away from its surface was a mystery. 

His body contorted, twisting in agony as the Serpent focused every ounce of his consciousness in keeping a firm grasp on the small grey lump in his pocket. It was all he had to do. It was all he could do at this point. 

The demon flipped backward as he let out another scream in pain, holy flames bursting from his neck and wrists, completely engulfing Anthony J. Crowley in the divine energy. The scream quickly ended just as what was left of the being squeezed the grey lump one last time before dissolving into a pile of ashes. 

Well, not really a pile of ashes. A smudge of ash, a melted pair of sunglasses, and a very black melted lump of plastic was all that remained where the demon Crowley had once stood. It was finished. 

"No! I- No, no! I didn't mean- stop- please, no!" The Principality Aziraphale tried to stop the Flame, he tried to call back and reverse the Fury, but no gust of wind, no rain, no burst of water of any kind would ever cease the hunger that The Spirit had for engulfing His enemies and rending them to nothing. The Principality Aziraphale watched in breathless horror on hands and knees, eyes burning as much from the ash and sparks that flung themselves from Crowley's body as they were from his tears. It was all he could do to watch, enclosing his wings as best he could around the tortured embers so that the winds wouldn't take him just yet. 

It was all he could do to remain hunkered and have his friend's final moments forever seared to his memory. 

It was all he could do. 

Yet all too soon, yet not soon enough...The Demon, His Friend, The Fallen He Would Have Gladly Called 'Brother', was lost. 

And it was all he could do to scream. 

"Ah, HA!" Crowley cried out triumphantly as he lifted a small grey cellular phone from his desk drawer. He set aside the glamorous iPhone as he drew his full attention to the small lump of grey plastic that he had pulled from the desk. The demon furiously started tapping on the glossy buttons, flitting through the device's features as he made it to an icon of a simple white envelope. Adjusting his perch on his desk, the demon showed no signs of slowing down as he continued his flurry of typing on the gadget*. 

(*This gadget in particular was the Nokia 1680 classic, which boasted a talk time of up to nearly 8 hours and a standby time of over 400 hours. Like the demon's iPhone, it also featured a speakerphone, camera, messaging, email client, and mobile web browser. One feature this small lump of plastic lorded over its more expensive and stylish cousin was that it was known to be nearly indestructible.The demon fully intended to put that reputation to the test.)

  
  
  
  


The very black melted lump of plastic that was once known as a Nokia 1680 classic displayed a mangled white envelope blinking on the screen before it too became just as black as the rest of the device. Its job was finished.

  
  
  


The Principality Aziraphale still hadn't moved, his platinum feathers now a further mess of ashy tinges and broken tips that had come from him sweeping the remains of the Demon Crowley into something of a neat pile, right alongside the estranged plastics that had been left behind. He knew he couldn't stay like this any longer. The barrier that had been set up to keep himself hidden from the lonely eyes of passing humans would fade and he'd somehow have to continue. 

That's what Crowley wanted after all. The damned, selfless idiot. 

A final prayer, a final shudder, and Aziraphale finally retracted his wings. His face and eyes red as he carefully gathered the pile of ash into a handkerchief, and it was as he started to pull himself to his feet, using his wings to power him up as his hands were full, he finally found himself with company. He didn't have to look to know that the Archangel Gabriel had arrived. 

Gabriel was smiling proudly, but it soon dimmed and turned to distaste at seeing that his lesser was still fighting back tears. "Thou hath done well to prove yourself Holy and True to our Lord, Brother Aziraphale, but why waste thine energy for the enemy in such-" 

"He wasn't the enemy!" Aziraphale snapped, wings rising into a huddled curve as he clutched Crowley's belongings closer to his chest. "He was one of us- just the same once before!" 

"Oh, please, a demon's-"

"JUST THE SAME!" He stormed up to the Archangel, fearless and seething, "The Fallen were our Brothers once! Surely you can remember then when our Halls were full- all of us wingtip-to-wingtip as one?! <<You, who so easily can turn your back on our own, who could not shed any tears for their Fallen, how dare you even continue to call yourself 'Angel'?!>>" 

Gabriel fell silent, his own temper rising as his hand rested upon his hip, nearing the pommel of his sword. "<<You're speaking of insolence...>>" 

"<<I'm speaking of Compassion! And I will no longer tolerate any lack thereof in my presence!>>" Aziraphale spat, "<<I have passed this inane test- I have shown that I still know Mercy, that I still know His Graces, and I still know my OWN People! And I will not have you stand in my presence from henceforth til the True End of All. If you've nothing more, then leave me be.>>" 

The Archangel Gabriel said nothing, and the Principality Aziraphale marched past to disappear into his bookshop. 

  
  


Time had always had a funny effect for an Immortal. Sometimes a century would drag, or an entire millennia would flash by, but Time would still pass and Aziraphale the bookshop owner would still fall into the rhythm that Time granted him. For whatever reason, he still couldn't part with his establishment in Soho. The renovations he had done made his interiors and backroom beautiful and homely once again over the course of a few months time. All of the garish and ornate presence eagerly removed (aside from a particularly annoying bell alarm system that couldn't be stripped from the ceiling for whatever reason and he even took a sledgehammer to it leaving not so much as a dent on even the smallest of the bells), putting in a bit extra to have a secondary side door so he could avoid a certain walkway all the easier. 

Unbothered by any further trespassing from either Above or Below, Time continued to pass and Aziraphale the bookkeeper endured. Just as he was meant to.

And he continued to endure 3 months, 3 days, and 3 hours to be exact. Just over 3 months since the defeat of the demon, an unfortunate anniversary for the angel to remember. 

"You've Got Mail!" 

Well. At least that wasn't the bells, but Aziraphale still could have sworn he had muted his computer's alerts. Particularly that one. Setting aside his current perusal of Stephen King's recent work, he resumed his seat at his work desk to inspect the new message. 

A new message from an A. J. Capulet entitled, "Romeo, Oh, Romeo" including an attachment, and with a send date oddly set back 3 months, 3 days, and 3 hours in the past. It wasn't every day that one received a scheduled email with that much precise planning. 

Aziraphale stopped breathing. Not that he really had to breathe, but the action kinda did soothe him at times. He glanced over to a cross-stitch frame given to him as a gift as a celebration of his shop's re-opening. The cross-stitch portrayed in spindly letters based on one Agnes Nutter's handwriting with the verse of Hebrews 13:2. He had a small safe rested behind it, wherein bad memories were stored. He looked back to the screen and hesitantly opened the attachement.

The attachment popped open Windows Media Player which immediately went into full screen mode. The scene faded in from black, showing a very familiar sight for the angel. It was the front walk that he had spent the past 3 months, 3 days, and 3 additional hours avoiding. However, lying on that front walk was a crumpled up and smoldering demon. If Aziraphale looked closely, he could see that the figure in black was breathing, albeit not moving very much.

"Oh, that's... That's in poor taste.... Absolutely... Why do you..." He grimaced, nearly shutting off his PC, but the slightest movement managed to catch his attention and made him watch further in morbid curiosity.

Slowly, weakly, a hand raised to give Aziraphale a thumbs up. After what seemed like centuries to the demon, he managed to roll himself onto his back so he could stare at the hand that he had still left hanging in the air. He inspected it curiously and with as little movement as possible. 

At least a bit accustomed to knowing how the video program worked, he carefully maneuvered his mouse icon over the playback bar to check just how much of this was to go on for and wondered how wise it would be to skip ahead.

Oddly enough, it somehow appeared to be a live stream of footage set on that fateful day. Perhaps it had something to do with how this demon chose to travel and his desire to not be controlled, but there was no skipping ahead for the angel. No fear, it didn't take long for the demon to melt into a black puddle that stretched and twisted into the form of Serpent himself. Although he appeared as Aziraphale would remember with a black glossy, but charred, body fading into a red underbelly and guided by a pair of slitted yellow eyes. Somehow... it seemed smaller. Of course, Aziraphale's laptop was much smaller than Crowley ever was as a serpent, so that must have been it. 

After taking another moment to gather itself, the snake slithered across the walk toward where the mysterious camera was perched. As a result, the angel had a snake coming straight for his computer screen with no signs of stopping. << Angel... >> Although the demon's mouth did not move, his voice could be heard clearly through the speakers of the laptop. Or as clearly as the laptop would allow, for that matter.

Aziraphale's grimace was now one of complete and utter confusion. 

"...Crowley...?"

<< Of course, >> the demon seemed to reply to the bewildered angel.

"How....?"

The snake stopped, looking just as confused for a moment. _'Had I not pulled this on... .....Does he really not…?'_ He flicked his tongue in the air, << Demon, you know... ...We can fit ourselves in very.. well.. near impossible places. Useful... >> Although his voice rang out, it sounded just as exhausted as one would expect for a demon who just barely survived being properly banished.

"You.. you mean...? You're alive?! You're- are you outside?! Where---?" He couldn't believe it. Of all the things that he'd witnessed, he couldn't believe his own eyes for once.

The snake looked vaguely alarmed at the idea that Aziraphale might go outside to check for him. << No! No. I'm right here. You're talking to me, you old fool. >>

"Well, clearly! I mean, you- what do I- YOU UTTER CRETIN!" The angel snapped again, suddenly feeling that same burst of panic and pain settle right back in as he stood up. "I thought- I thought I'd actually- you said you'd--" He gestured exasperatedly, "Why?! Why did you lie to me like that?!"

The snake flinched momentarily. << It wouldn't have worked if you knew! Did... Did you really think I'd be able to get my hands on an imp when Hell wanted me obliterated?! >> Despite his equally frustrated and raised tone, he quieted down quickly as that had used up more energy than he was planning at this stage of the game. 

<<I knew you would never do me in... You promised. You keep.. your promises, angel... But... I had to make you try to act your part the only way I know how. >>

Aziraphale looked about ready to start off on another tirade, but the bluster quickly passed as the realisation settled. He adjusted his jacket and vest before sinking back in his seat. "That was stupid of you. Incredibly stupid." He still sounded angry, but apologetically so.

<< To be fair, you didn't ask for a smart plan. >> The snake seemed almost pleased for a moment before it approached the screen so it was as close as it could get before bumping the camera with its nose. << The Devil is in the details, you know... Next time, be more specific. >> Crowley ducked his head back and forth, inspecting the area around him with a good tongue flick here and there for good measure.

Aziraphale sighed deeply, "Fair... I won't forget that next time. Just... Dear God, it's... a relief. I honestly thought I'd..." He stopped himself. Crowley probably knew how much guilt the angel had been carrying anyway, "I'm sorry for putting you through that though."

<< I think... we'll be able to call that even soon enough. But I'll need... >> A hiss replaced what would otherwise be an exasperated sigh from the demon. <<...I need...>>

"Need what? What can I do?"

<< ....I might need you to help me.. out of here. >> Another hiss, but this one more irritated as the demon did not like the idea of asking for help after what they had just gone through. << I'm going to join you shortly... but... I'm absolutely knackered. You really did knock the Hell out of me... so to speak...>>

"Sorry."

<< ....Just spot me will you?! >> Crowley's voice growled back, getting frustrated with the apologies considering the circumstances. The demon then summoned up all of his strength and rammed his head against the camera, pressing it as firmly as he could muster. Perhaps as a surprise to the angel, his laptop screen started to bulge as a result.

"Spot...? Wh- what?" Aziraphale rose back up from his chair again as the computer's screen dimensions started to break any sense of dimensional reality. It was only after the snake's snout had started to emerge from what, as he was told by the Pulsifer lad last they were here, was the inward facing camera lens that he quickly positioned himself to help catch and support the serpent's bulk as more of Crowley appeared. He made sure Crowley's head and neck were looped around his shoulder as he carefully helped wind the rest of the demon around his arm. "What does Hell feed you even...?" He grunted as he tottered a bit unbalanced to the back couch and safely set him down before slipping out from Crowley's folds. Taking a step back, he sort of couldn't help but marvel at the giant that Crowley had become, especially in comparison to the little fiend he once knew him to be. Back when he was just a little ‘Crawly’, no thicker than a vine.

Even if he didn't voice it, the demon was actually grateful for the angel doing most of the work for him after he had started oozing out of the computer like pasta through a pasta maker. The large snake seemed completely exhausted and out of breath as it didn't bother to move from the spot that Aziraphale had set him down. 

Plus, the couch was the most comfortable thing he had felt in 3 months, 3 days, and just over 3 hours. 

<<...Perfect...>>

Being stationary* felt so absolutely fantastic right now, even if the burns covering his body still... burned. 

(*When a demon travels through phone lines or the tubes for the internet, they must break themselves into many many miniscule particles in order to fit between all of the spots where they cannot. Crowley had just spent over 3 months as a very wounded and never stopping pile of vibrating particles. He had good reason to be tired.)

"Is it?" Aziraphale didn't really know how else to react.

<< No... you're right... ....It could do with being... warmer.. >> The demon still made no motion to adjust himself in either form or position. He hadn't the energy to do either, really.

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then disappeared to fish around in his storage bins before returning with a heating blanket. He draped it carefully over the entirety of Crowley's body and with a snap, the heater turned on despite it not being plugged in. "Better?" 

Crowley bristled as the blanket was set on him, as he couldn't keep a good eye on the angel with the state he was in. When the equally unexpected heat turned on, the demon quickly found himself relaxing once again. Though it shouldn't have been, Aziraphale was an angelic host to all unless they planned on buying one of his books. And despite all of his efforts to keep guarded and to emphasize his demonic nature whenever it came under question, the demon uttered one last phrase before falling asleep, <<.......Thanks.>>

"You're welcome. And always will be." Aziraphale smiled a bit, adjusting the blanket one last time to help keep it secure before picking up his book and quietly sat at the foot of the couch to continue reading.


End file.
